


Inosculation

by lazrbrain



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anxious Katsuki Yuuri, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Florist AU, M/M, florist, flower shop
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-09-22 00:21:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9573440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazrbrain/pseuds/lazrbrain
Summary: Viktor is motionless, life consisting of his shop and his dog. Yuuri is running, trapped by mistakes he cannot change. Both of them are desperate for more. They find it in each other.





	1. Chapter 1

_Inosculation: A natural phenomenon in which trunks, branches, or roots of two trees grow together._

Viktor Nikiforov walks down his street quickly, his head down and his hands jammed in his pockets. Despite his efforts rain soaks his face, water droplets gathering together above his lips. It was definitely the day to have brought an umbrella; a barista gives Viktor a look as he passes, hurrying to set up the outdoor tables. It was hardly Viktor's fault; in a strange act of defiance Makkachin had chewed up his last umbrella, leaving shredded pieces scattered across his flat. He had tried his best to be angry, picking up the bits and waving them at his disobedient pet. 'Who did this? Was it you Makkachin?' he had asked as the culprit looked for someone else to blame. In the end Makkachin had licked his face, receiving immediate forgiveness. Viktor does wish he had remembered to buy another umbrella though. He frowns, wiping a hand across his forehead as he reaches the flower shop.

Stammi Vicino is written in looping cursive across the wooden sign. It's old fashioned, carved by Yuri's Grandfather. The effort is palpable; each time he sees it Viktor imagines the old man carefully painting the calligraphy, transferring it onto the wood, whittling away with skill he wouldn't find anywhere else. Sadly the paint has begun to peel again. It's part of the shop's charm and customers often comment on it, but it does require some upkeep. He inhales deeply as he unlocks his shop's door, breathing in the smell. Equal parts fresh and sweet, he's witnessed customers walk straight back out while their companions look through the arrangements. It makes some people dizzy; so many flowers together can be overpowering.  
  
Viktor trails around the shop floor checking the stock; the arrangements he cut yesterday evening still look fresh, and he changes the water in their little pots. He rubs his hair with a small towel he keeps behind the counter; also wood, although the modern cash register mars the effect somewhat. He checks the backroom, winding up the blinds on the windows to let in the morning light. He had bought the lower floor of the building because of this room. A real greenhouse was the ideal, kept neatly at the back of his mind. He often imagined it; his shop, but with a thriving garden and beautiful glass room to grow his flowers in. Right now it was a ridiculous dream, far too extravagant for his small business, and nearly impossible in the city. The backroom was as close as he could get. The previous owners had built the extension onto the small yard - complete with skylights. It was a very unusual space to find in the city, and Viktor had leapt on it. Now he double checks the float in the till, runs his finger along the paper bags and containers on the side, and flips the closed sign to open. He moves back behind the till, almost regretful. If he hadn’t done so much preparation last night he’d have far more interesting tasks this morning.  
  
Every day is the same. Every day Viktor checks the flowers and opens the blinds and counts the till. Every day customers push open the door with a sparkle in their eyes, ready to buy flowers for a special event, or a special someone. Sometimes they're taken in by the old fashioned exterior, purchasing a single bloom on a whim. Sometimes they walk in after studiously researching online, looking for a good, reasonably priced florists. Sometimes they rush in, usually clutching a box of chocolates already, asking how fast he can help them and how much for that red bouquet in the window? Viktor assists each customer with a charming smile on his face, reassuring them that the flowers will be fine for a good few days, that he cuts them fresh, that a person he has never met will definitely like them.  
  
And through all of this Viktor yearns. He is a romantic; he does own a flower shop after all. He daydreams of someone walking through that door who hasn't found their other half, a man who looks into his eyes and sees past his smiles, into his very core. He could keep going to bars and meeting friends of friends, but it’s only ever resulted in brief passions that quickly become lukewarm and tepid. He wants a true love, a soulmate; perhaps it's unrealistic but Viktor has read too many romance novels, spent far too much time by himself to not believe. He’s experienced too much heartbreak to accept his lot, that he is not deserving of a once in a lifetime person. And yet somehow, despite his friendly demeanour and valiant efforts on the dating scene and - if he does say so himself - his above average attractiveness, he has yet to meet The One.

  
Viktor is twenty eight and his greatest love is a poodle.  
  
He casts a disparaging glance at the rain outside. Out of all the days, today is definitely not the one for meeting his soulmate. No one in their right mind would be casually looking at flowers in this weather.

* * *

It's past three, and Viktor has served two customers; a rushing man who grabbed a bouquet without even looking, and an elderly lady who pursed her lips at the displays before tutting and purchasing some petunias. Apparently her usual florists was closed, a fact she made sure he was aware of. Viktor had bitten his tongue, smile firmly in place as he carefully double bagged them for her. Now he stares gloomily at the door. It was hardly worth opening up; he could have had the day off.  
Just as he is contemplating getting up to switch the sign, a figure stops by the window. Viktor can't quite see them; the glass has steamed up and the rain is still heavy. They peer in at the display for almost a minute, then continue walking. Viktor sighs, stands, and begins closing down the till. Then the bell chimes as someone nudges open the door, not anticipating how heavy it is.  
  
A man stands in the doorway, dripping onto the floor. He peers around, running a hand through his wet hair. Viktor stares. He has a round face with chubby cheeks, and Viktor can’t decide how old he might be. Definitely in his twenties, but certainly younger than Viktor. He's a little shorter, but not too short, and quite slim. He's asian; perhaps Japanese? Viktor isn't sure. The man has also forgotten his umbrella. He looks up at Viktor and flushes, turning awkwardly to study the display near the window. Was it him outside a moment ago? Viktor's heart is thumping, and his neck feels hot. The man is quite attractive, and his awkwardness endearing. The florist watches as he wanders around, trying to be casual as he looks at the flowers, leaning in close to each arrangement.

Every so often he glances over at the till and quickly looks back, his face redder each time. Viktor continues to watch him, leaning against the counter. The game continues for some time; the shy man pretending Viktor isn't watching him, glancing over to confirm he is, and then blushing a little deeper. It's absolutely adorable, and funny, and Viktor realises he is grinning. He schools his expression into something a little more neutral, letting the man's charade of looking at the bouquets carry on a few moments longer before he speaks.  
  
"Can I help you with anything?" The man jumps, as if he didn't expect Viktor to speak and swings round, looking at the floor.  
  
"Um, actually, yes. You don't - uh...you don't have any seeds, do you?" For a moment Viktor is thrown.  
  
"Flower seeds?"  
  
"Well," The man looks around him helplessly. "Yes. I mean, this is a flower shop, isn't it?"  
  
Viktor laughs. At this the man seems to lose a little of his nerves to make way for annoyance. Before he can speak, Viktor replies.  
  
"Yes of course. Sorry, not too many people ask me for seeds; usually they come in for the arrangements. I keep some out the back, I'll go check what I have. Anything particular in mind?"  
  
The man shakes his head, casting his gaze again. Viktor smiles, and jogs to the back room. Of course he does have seeds, however they're not usually for sale; surprisingly few people have asked. He sells the blooms he grows himself, rather than gardening supplies. Still, he's not about to deny his only interesting customer of the day. He opens a drawer and picks some out, making sure to get a selection. He hurries back to the shop floor. The man is waiting for him, peering at the flowers again. Viktor pauses for a moment, taking him in. His eyebrows are scrunched as he looks carefully at the different flowers. His hands are clasped behind his back, fingers knotted together. He's wearing a blue trench coat, still dripping.  
  
Viktor clears his throat gently. "Here you go; I brought a few since you're not sure what you're looking for yet." The man approaches as Viktor spreads the packets across the counter. He nibbles his lip as he picks up the first packet to examine it, holding it close to his face. Viktor can see him properly now, and his hand's tingle. He is beautiful. His face is soft, his cheeks still a little pink. His nose slopes upwards slightly, and his eyelashes are impossibly long. Viktor can't quite see his eyes properly, but he's more focused on the lip he tugs with his teeth. It's not just beautiful, it's hot, and now Viktor is the one feeling his neck heat. He is content to stare at this man for an eternity, but he's clearly struggling to choose between the seeds as his sorts through them.  
  
"What colour flowers do you like?"  
  
The man blinks at him, then lowers the seed packet from his face. His eyes are so deep, so brown. Viktor remebers a comment his friend Chris made a few months ago.  
  
'Brown eyes are boring anyway.' He'd explained, bitter about a recent break up. Chris was obviously wrong; this customer's eyes are in no way boring. They are stunning. They're the kind of eyes Viktor yearns to fall into, to be lost in, to wake up and look into each day.  
  
"Blue." He is jolted back to reality as the man replies.  
  
"Blue...lovely colour. Suits you." Viktor nods at the man's trenchcoat, delighting as he blushes once more. He considers options as a sneaky little voice in his head wonders if this man said blue because of Viktor's eyes. He tells the voice to shut up, although he's pleased at the thought.  
  
"Hyacinths are blue, easy to grow too. Cornflowers, Hydrangeas..." He rifles through the seed packets.  
  
"What about those ones, over there?" Viktor follows the direction of his finger to a small blue and white arrangement. He only makes a couple a week, as not many people buy them. It's not a showy collection, lots of small, subtle blooms.  
  
"Forget-me-nots. I'm sure I've got some seeds somewhere. They're wildflowers, so they're very easy to grow. I'm guessing you're a beginner?" The man nods and Viktor beams.  
  
"They're perfect then. Do you have a pot to put them in?" The man nods again.  
  
"Yes, my mother bought me a nice one earlier this year." So that was why he was buying them.  
  
"Fantastic. I'll go find you some now."  
  
Viktor returns a few moments later with the seeds.  
  
"How many packets would you like?"  
  
"Oh...just the one thank you. I'd better start small." he says pulling a face. Viktor laughs and the man's eyes light up. Emotion suddenly clutches him; he would continue to laugh like a lunatic for hours if it kept that expression on his customer’s face. It would probably just scare him off though. He guesses a price and types it into the till, casting his mind around for a conversation topic. Through all his imaginings and daydreams, he has no idea what to say. Then inspiration strikes.  
  
"Yes, forget-me-nots are lovely...subtle, yet meaningful. Allegedly the name comes from a story of two lovers, walking along a riverbank. They see the bright blue blossoms, standing out against the green." Viktor peeks at the man and sees he is listening attentively. "One reached out to pick them for his beloved, but as he did the water swept him away. As he floated down the river, he cried out not to forget him. They're perfect to give to someone special." Morbid, but effective. The man laughs delightedly, and Viktor almost collapses.  
  
"Sadly they're just to brighten up my kitchen a little." Viktor disagrees; this is fantastic news.  
  
"Oh well. They're wonderful for that too." The man pays, and Viktor takes time finding him a small bag. He's fussing far too much, but he doesn't want the man to leave. He needs to give him a reason to come back, or bite the bullet and ask for his number.  
  
"They need proper sunlight, so keep them on a windowsill if you can. Water them a little everyday, but not too much; you don't want to drown them." The man nods enthusiastically, mouthing the instructions after him. It's so sweet that Viktor could die.  
  
"They're easy to grow, but all plants need proper attention. Feel free to come back with any questions. I don't mind." The man shakes his head quickly, and Viktor's heart drops.  
  
"I couldn't trouble you more, you've been so helpful. I'm sure you're very busy." Viktor smiles and gestures to the shop.  
  
"Clearly not." The man looks around as if he hadn't realised they had been alone the entire time.  
  
"I guess not," He chuckles. "Well, thank you for all your help. You've been wonderful; I don't really know what I'm doing, I wasn't even sure this was the right place to buy them." He picks up the bag and turns to leave, and Viktor is suddenly desperate.  
  
"Viktor." The man pauses.  
  
"Sorry?"  
  
"That's my name, in case you do come back. Viktor." At this he plucks a flower from a nearby vase, and hands it to him. It's supposed to be charming, to keep the man's mind on him for the rest of the day. Unfortunately he picked out a plain old daisy. Not as romantic as intended. But the man smiles, takes the flower, and Viktor is certain he could have a heart attack at any moment.  
  
"I'm Yuuri."

* * *

"Yurio, I cannot begin to explain how beautiful he is."  
  
"You've been doing an annoyingly good job of it so far. And don't call me that."  
  
"I have to give you a nickname, since he's Yuuri too." Viktor is lounging on a stool, sipping a cappuccino. Yuri had slammed the jug down as he made it, slopping milk onto his own hand and cursing. The coffee shop he works at is just down from Stammi Vicino, and Viktor is a strong believer in friends and family discounts. Unfortunately his friend is not, and no amount of pouting gets him his caramel syrup for free. Yuri glares at him, wiping the spilt milk off the espresso machine.  
  
"I'm the first Yuri. You've only met this guy what, once? Fifteen minutes ago? Give him the stupid nickname."  
  
"Oh Yurio, he deserves more respect than that."  
   
Yuri gives him a nasty look and snatches the coffee as Viktor laughs.  
  
"I'm only joking Yuri. Please can I have my coffee back." He flutters his eyelashes at the young barista, and Yuri sighs and shoves the paper cup across the counter. "Thank you Yurio, darling brother." At this Yuri flushes red and swears at him.  
  
"I'm not your brother. Any brother of your's would be ugly, like you." Viktor clutches his hand to his heart as Yuri stomps away to deal with another customer, a young woman who looks a little worried as she takes her toddlers hand. Mila walks out of the storeroom, and Viktor shrieks.  
  
"Mila! I had a most lovely encounter today. I met my soulmate." Mila snorts as she starts stacking take out cups.  
  
"Oh really? You seem very sure of yourself for one conversation." Viktor deflates. The door had been cracked open while he was telling Yuri, and his chance to dramatise the story to another person is lost. "I do like the new nickname though. Yurio will hate it forever." She starts making the woman's drink, who is ushering her daughter to a table.  
  
"Go away Mila. Don't encourage his stupidity." Yuri complains as he taps his fingernails on the till.  
  
"So. You didn't ask for his number, or if he lives nearby, or what he likes to do, or his last name. How exactly do you plan on pursuing this soulmate of yours?" Viktor preens.  
  
"I told him he could come back any time, for help with his flowers." Mila stares. "I mean, that's good isn't it? He'll come back?" Mila shrugs.  
  
"Probably not. He's bought the seeds now, and you said yourself they're easy to grow." Viktor is beginning to see some errors he might have made.  
  
"But he has to come back! He just has to!"  
  
"No he doesn't." Yuri interjects, meaner than usual. "Why would he? You were clearly desperate, sat all alone, keeping him waiting ages."  
  
"Don't be cruel Yurio." Mila pats Viktor's shoulder as he looks forlornly at his drink. Yuri busies himself with the till again. "Viktor, forget what I said. I'm sure he'll pop by soon. He might even come by tomorrow, to check he planted them right." Viktor sighs.  
  
"Tomorrow is Sunday."  
  
Yuri snaps. "So open Sunday, if you're that eager."  
  
Viktor beams. "An excellent idea Yurio. I should get going now, Makkachin will need a walk." He hops off the stool and strides out, ignoring Yuri's complaints about his new nickname. Surely if he opens up tomorrow, fate will work in his favour.

* * *

Yuuri does not come by on Sunday. Viktor is despondent, despite Mila reassuring him that he probably assumes the shop is closed. These things take time, she says. You have to let people sit on thoughts, let them develop. Yuuri was probably waiting a day so he didn't look too keen. Then Yuuri does not come by on Monday, Tuesday, or Wednesday either. By Thursday Viktor has begun to berate himself. He does this all the time. Falling in love with perfect strangers, over thinking things, imagining feelings and connections that weren't real. But he's never quite felt as strongly as when he met Yuuri, and he can't help the romantic scenarios he concocts as he serves other customers.  
  
And then, like magic, the bell rings and Yuuri appears in Stammi Vicino's doorway. It's raining again, though not as heavily, and Viktor is struck by how similar the situation is. Aside from two children smelling roses and giggling the shop is empty. He's dripping a little onto the floor again, although not as much.  
  
"Yuuri. What can I do for you?" His tone is calm, but Viktor is ecstatic.  
  
"Oh...hi again." Yuuri seems surprised to be speaking to him. As if he didn't purposefully walk into the flower shop. Viktor is beginning to realise this man is extraordinarily awkward in social situations. It's terribly endearing.  
  
"Is there anything I can help you with?"  
  
"Oh! Yes. I'm having some problems with the Forget-Me-Nots."  
  
Viktor mentally cheers.  
  
“I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about. What’s the issue?”  
  
Yuuri tells him, gesturing despondently, that despite what Viktor told him the Forget-Me-Nots won’t sprout.  
  
“Obviously I’m just bad at growing things. I mean you said they were easy to grow and I’m sure you’re right - you are a professional after all - but I must have done something wrong. Maybe I don’t have a green thumb? Or is it because I misunderstood something?” Yuuri is gazing at his thumb and Viktor tries not to laugh. It’s ever so cute.  
  
“Yuuri. Don’t fret. It’s only been four days. Typically Forget-Me-Nots take between three and five to sprout. I’m sure there’s a little green stalk growing just under the soil.”  
  
“Oh.” Yuuri exhales deeply, fiddling with his sleeve, and Viktor is struck by how relieved he seems. How eager he is for his little flowers to be successful. Viktor wonders if Yuuri was truthful when he told him there was no one he wanted to give them to. “So um. I guess I should leave then? I probably shouldn’t buy anything else until I’m sure I can look after these.”  
  
He can’t possibly leave already can he? He only just got here. But Yuuri is already turning to go, and Viktor is out of time.  
  
“Ah, Yuuri-” he swivels suddenly, his foot catching on a plant pot. Viktor winces as it tips, loamy soil pouring out across the floor. The terracotta pot is smashed into big pieces; at least it wasn’t a glass vase. For a moment they stand there, Viktor still behind the counter and Yuuri’s head bent towards the mess. Then they leap into action, Yuuri throwing his hands up in horror, Viktor already waving off his apologies.  
  
“Yuuri, its fine.”  
  
“Viktor, I’m so sorry, I’m so clumsy and I don’t know what I was thinking and-”  
  
“Yuuri it was an accident. It’s fine.” They continue in this way for several more minutes as Viktor procures an old plastic shopping bag and shovel. He re-pots the flowers quickly while his customer starts desperately shovelling up the leftover soil. Viktor finishes first, taking the bag from Yuuri.  
  
“Don’t pick up any of the pieces, you need gloves like mine to protect your hands.” At that Yuuri wrings his hands together.  
  
“Please, is there anything at all I can do to help? It was my fault after all.” Debatable considering Viktor was the one who surprised him, but he relents.  
  
“Just in the door of the back room, there should be a rag hanging around. You can help me wipe the floor if you want.” Yuuri scurries off on his mission and Viktor picks up the remaining pieces, eyeing the roses across the room. The kids who were hanging around earlier have vanished, as have several of his flowers.  
  
“I really am sorry, I’ll try to be more careful next time.” Yuuri is beside him with the damp cloth, wiping soil from the wooden floor.  
  
“Yuuri please. It’s totally okay.” Viktor gives him a reassuring smile, and Yuuri flushes. They kneel in silence for a while, Yuuri scrubbing the boards and Viktor desperately trying to think of a conversation starter. He has an opportunity to continue speaking with him and instead he’s just sat there like a fool, checking for bits of plant pot. He finds himself watching Yuuri instead. His face is still red and he’s determinedly cleaning, but his shoulders aren’t shaking and his hands are steady. He seems a little more relaxed than before. Viktor is glad. He turns his attention to his face, blue eyes meeting brown as he realises a moment too late that Yuuri is looking at him as well. Everything is still.  
  
“I should pay for this.”  
  
Viktor is snapped out of his trance as Yuuri speaks. His voice is oddly calm, and now Viktor is the one who is stumbling.  
  
“Oh no, Yuuri I can’t possibly make you - it wasn’t an expensive pot and the crocuses are fine so-”  
  
“I should do something to make it up to you. Please.”  
  
Viktor hatches a plan.  
  
“Well, I suppose you’re right. It’s only polite.” Yuuri nods seriously. “It is silly to make you pay, but…I could use some help.”  
  
“Some help?” Viktor tries to form a sage expression, hoping he looks wise and professional.  
  
“Yes. I do all my prep work for the next day in the evening. Making sure all the plants have water, potting new things, cutting bouquets and arrangements, things like that.” He also counts the till, restocks the bags, cleans the shop so it’s nice for the morning. Viktor doesn’t get a lot of free time.  
  
“So I could help you with that?”  
  
“Absolutely. It would be invaluable; it’s always nice to get away early.” Viktor has every intention of dragging his work on for a long as possible if Yuuri agrees. He does of course.  
  
“Okay, that sounds alright. What time would you like me to come back?”  
  
“Half four should be fine.” That gives him enough time to go to the coffee shop and scream at Mila and Yurio.  
  
“Half four? Don’t you close at six?” Normally yes, but Viktor can’t wait that long.  
  
“Well now, I didn’t realise you were that keen. Been googling me have we?” Yuuri almost catches his chin as he stands up, Viktor moving his head just in time. He stammers, waving his hands in front of him again, red cheeks back in full force. Viktor laughs.  
  
“A joke Yuuri. I close whenever I like, and business has been slow today. Fridays and Saturdays are the busiest; it’s worth more closing early today to prepare for tomorrow.” Yuuri is still red.  
  
“O-okay. I guess I’ll see you at half four then. Don’t forget.”  
  
Viktor wouldn’t dream of it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, a few things to mention:
> 
> I haven't written fanfiction in a while, and this is my first on AO3 so bear with me if any of the formatting isn't right (particularly mobile users; if you guys notice anything feel free to let me know). It's literally been years since I wrote anything like this...of course it would be Yuri on Ice that inspired me. 
> 
> I plan on updating at least once a week, but I'm really loving writing this so far so they might come a little sooner. I tend not to post chapters any shorter than this one and I'm quite busy with uni so we'll see. Everything is planned out except I'm still deciding whether to stick entirely with Viktor's POV or change it up a little each chapter. 
> 
> Yuri/Yurio is aged up a little in this fic since I love him and Otabek but I'm not down with the whole underage thing. All other ages remain the same so far, I'll let you guys know if that changes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri helps Viktor with his work, and Chris is a terrible person.

Yuuri stands on the street corner, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He checks his watch for the fourth time; 16:13 blinks back at him. Only a minute has passed since he last looked. A woman leaves the coffee shop nearby, eyeing him as she passes. It’s the same woman who was walking just ahead of him on her way there. He drops his gaze to the pavement, face warm. He doesn’t look up again until she is past. He’s out of place here, fidgeting against the wall. Even strangers can see it, wondering who this strange Japanese man is. Viktor probably thinks he’s out of place too.

Viktor. Yuuri is early for their…appointment? Meeting? He isn’t sure what to call it. After spending the afternoon trying to read - the key word being ‘trying’- Yuuri had been unable to sit around any longer. He had left the flat as late as he could, poking lightly at the soil covering his forget-me-nots on his way. Supposedly they’re growing, just beneath the surface, but Yuuri has a horrible feeling Viktor overestimated his abilities as a carer. He’d passed the three traffic lights it took to reach Stammi Vicino slowly, pretending to look in some shop windows so he didn’t appear strange. Somehow he is still unreasonably early.

In fact, Viktor definitely thinks he’s odd. He probably regrets selling him the seeds. His previous trip had been embarrassing; it took him days to summon the courage to go back into Stammi Vicino, and when he finally managed it Viktor had laughed at him for being so worried about the seeds. Then he had knocked over that pot. It hadn’t looked too expensive, but Yuuri had felt his stomach drop as they watched the soil pour all over the floor. His eye’s flit to the traffic lights and back, trying to decide whether he should just go home; if he helps Viktor with vital preparations he’ll probably mess them up somehow. As his leg twitches in the direction of the flat Yuuri weighs up his shortcomings with his obligations; the importance of always following through on commitments. Mari would punch his arm if she was here, reminding him that the Katsuki family were many things but flaky wasn’t one of them. It was the same tone of voice she used every time he came home crying from school, or kept too quiet the night before a competition. Kind yet firm.

Yuuri chews on his lip, shuffles his feet once more, and then spins in the direction of the flower shop, striding down the street. He has no intentions of humiliating his family like he used to, whether Viktor wants him there or not. His bravado falters as he reaches the wooden door, and he pauses for a moment. The shop is so different to the other buildings, even on a smaller street like this one. Yuuri imagines Stammi Vicino’s peeling sign in one of the busier areas, surrounded by office buildings and designer wear. It’s a strange picture, reminiscent of the time his family took a trip to Tokyo and came across an old fashioned barbershop with newer, modern buildings towering around it.

Yuuri lays his hand against the door, the memory of his first visit burning in his mind; how he’d embarrassed himself stumbling across the threshold. He pushes firmly, the door swinging open as the bell announces his arrival.

“I’ll be just a minute!” Viktor calls from the backroom, and Yuuri starts shuffling his feet again. The shop floor is empty. He wonders how Viktor’s business is doing; he hopes well. It would be awful if Stammi Vicino closed down. Yuuri spent the previous Sunday reading the reviews online; almost all of them positive.

Viktor strides out of the backroom, and Yuuri’s fingertips tingle. He knows Viktor is handsome; it’s one of the reasons Yuuri was struggling to read. But right now he is, in a word, stunning. He has changed out of the burgundy apron he wore earlier, and Yuuri clocks the button he’s missed at the top of his shirt. The late afternoon light hits his face just so, bouncing across his hair, casting shadows under his collar bones. For a second Yuuri allows himself to wonder; did Viktor change his shirt specially for their meeting? Or does he usually redress himself after work?

“I’m glad you’re here Yuuri. I closed up about five minutes ago.” Yuuri searches his brain for the words to reply, before giving up and nodding.

“Here, I’ll take your coat.” Viktor’s hand is on his arm, and Yuuri jumps in surprise. He’s quick, and graceful, and somehow his touch is entirely unexpected. Viktor’s smile freezes on his face, and he drops his hand.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean…you can hang it up over there if you’d like.” He gestures to the door behind him, and Yuuri chokes.

“N-no, it’s okay I wasn’t…you can take my coat if you’d like. Or I can hang it, it’s not a problem-” now that he’s found his ability to speak the words are coming far too fast, and Yuuri can feel his face heating, feel the tightening of his chest because he always does this, he always ruins things with his lack of social graces. He’s tugging his jacket off his shoulders and willing his mouth to stop when Viktor takes pity on him. His smile softens, and he takes the trench coat, folding it over his arm. His hands are firm, and gentle, and Yuuri’s words peter out.

“Shall we get started? I’ve been looking forward to having a helping hand.” His voice is bright, and as he spins away from Yuuri to hang the coat it’s as if he didn’t even notice the embarrassment moments ago. Yuuri nods gratefully.

“Yes, let’s start.”

* * *

 

Yuuri is knelt down, hanging bags on little hooks behind the counter. So far he’s learnt to change the water for the unsold bouquets, write down custom orders into a big book underneath the till, and count up the money for the day. He’s beginning to realise that although the shop has seemed empty in the past, many of Viktor’s customers phone in their orders, picking them up later.

“I’m considering hiring a delivery boy.” Viktor had mentioned, and Yuuri reminds himself to mention this to Otabek later. After all, if his friend worked for Viktor, he could start dropping by more often.

Helping Viktor conjures memories of his early teens, working at his parents inn after school each day. He’d try to rush through his assigned jobs as quickly as possible, until Hiroko told him very firmly that if the floors were not cleaned properly, and the towels folded messily he would not be going to Ice Castle at all. It hurts his chest to think of his family, back in Hasetsu. Of his father and Mari, smoking quietly together, watching sports on the big television. Of Yuuko, and Takeshi, and the triplets, skating each evening.

“What are you thinking about?” Yuuri jumps for what must be the fifth time now, as his eyes lock with Viktor’s. Viktor, for his part, ignores this, as he has done each time since the coat incident.

“Just…Japan. Family and stuff.”

“Oh yes, I haven’t asked you about them. You must miss them terribly.” Yuuri makes a noncommittal noise, and he doesn’t pry. Yuuri gets the feeling Viktor wouldn’t have asked if it hadn’t come up, and he wonders about the family Viktor has yet to mention.

“Do you miss yours?”

Viktor pauses, his hands on a vase next to the till, and when Yuuri looks at him his brow is furrowed. Yuuri itches to poke his finger into the crease, to smooth it away as quickly as it came.

“Not really.” They fall silent again, and Yuuri berates himself for asking. The clock on the wall ticks, and he starts chewing the inside of his mouth as he reaches for something to say.

“I’ve finished with the bags.” Viktor glances over, his expression clear again.

“Excellent! We’re about done with all the boring stuff I think. Would you like to help me cut flowers for some of these orders?”

Yuuri smiles and nods, and Viktor claps his hands together. This time he doesn’t jump, and relishes the comforting feeling of becoming used to another person.

“Great. Come with me and I’ll show you how to get started.” Yuuri scrambles up. This is what he’s been waiting for; the backroom. He’s caught glimpses before - when he fetched the rag earlier in the day, when Viktor was finding him some bags - but he hasn’t spent any length of time in there. He follows Viktor through the door, running his hand along the peeling paint as he passes, and then it’s closing behind him, and Yuuri basks in the orange glow of the sun. There are two huge skylights built into the ceiling, the blinds pulled right up to let as much light in as possible. Raindrops are still clustered across the glass, sparkling as the light catches them. Four much smaller, thin windows line the top of the panelled walls. Wooden tables ring the sides of the room, several more pushed together in the centre, and every surface is covered in flowers. Different coloured roses take up much of the room, standing magnificently in their big pots. They make him think of Viktor; graceful, poised, ruling over the floral kingdom.

If the roses are kings, then Viktor is a god; he’s pressing the soil in a pot of lilies, lips pursed in thought. He is the creator, the nurturer. Each flower shows his devotion and skill. Yuuri inhales deeply, marvelling at the smell of so many beautiful blooms.

“Do you like them? They’re Casablanca Lilies.” Viktor is gesturing at the pot in front of him, and Yuuri moves closer.

“They’re…beautiful. They’re so white.” He nods appreciatively, and Viktor beams.

“Yes, I love them. They’re a happy flower. This kind are very popular, particularly for weddings. Most of the wedding orders I get want lilies or roses as the focal point.”

Yuuri can see why; each blossom is like a little western bride in a pretty white dress.

“The first order we have to get done is a bouquet for a wedding tomorrow. One of the bridesmaids is picking it up, so I’ll be opening a bit early tomorrow. This is why it’s great you’re here to help.”

Viktor finishes checking the lilies and starts pulling open drawers in a big cupboard near the door. Yuuri takes the time to look at the rest of the pots. The central table seems dedicated to flowers mid growth; some of them appear to have nothing in them, although tiny, hand lettered labels attached to the pots say otherwise. They’re like his forget-me-nots; growing away from the eye, under the soil. Readying themselves to sprout up and meet their nimble handed maker.

Viktor returns with an armful of supplies. He has clippers, thin plastic sheets with Stammi Vicino printed across them in the same cursive as the sign outside, and white ribbon.

“This is going to be a pretty simple arrangement; I offer various decorations for wedding bouquets - little pearls and teeny tiny crystals, things like that. But sometimes they want to keep it simple.” Yuuri smiles.

“Let the flowers speak for themselves.” Viktor beams.

“Exactly. I much prefer these arrangements myself.” He shudders. “I once had a customer order some beautiful, expensive roses, and then ask me to try and cover them in glitter. I seriously considered turning them down, but at the time I needed the money. I still have nightmares about those flowers.” Yuuri snorts.

“Did the bride like them though?”

“Yes, he did.” Viktor winks and Yuuri laughs again.

They begin to create the bouquet, and he quickly realises that this is trickier than he expected. It’s an art form he thinks, as Viktor shows him how to cut the stems just right; an inch from the bottom, diagonally so they won’t wither as quickly. They strip the leaves from the stems, then place each one into a glass vase while they prepare the secondary flowers; waxflowers, Viktor tells him. He begins to gather the lilies into his right hand, rotating them as he goes. Yuuri watches.

“Are you left handed Viktor?”

“Yes. You always make bouquets like this in your non dominant hand, so you have more control over the placement.” Yuuri nods and rests his chin in his hands, legs tucked under his stool. It’s amazing to witness. Viktor’s hands fly, moving to a music only he can hear. He talks as he works, placing each flower with precision. Not all bouquets use different types of flowers; some look beautiful with just one. The rosy pink waxflowers are to soften the lilies; the bride wants a combination of vintage and modern, a rustic wedding, and the bouquet has to reflect that. Sometimes clients ask for foliage in bouquets like this one, particularly for outdoor weddings. Yuuri soaks up the information like a sponge, running his tongue along his teeth as he learns. An artist has a studio, a chef has a kitchen. Viktor has this space, his workshop. A place to create beauty reflective of himself. Yuuri is more than happy to be his eager student.

“Now, we secure the arrangement-” Viktor tugs a thin rubber band off his wrist, looping it over the stems until it’s tight.

“And then we do this.” He cuts several inches off the stems with the shears, and Yuuri’s eyes track them as they scatter across the tiled floor. “I’ll clean those up later. Now we cut the ribbon we need.” He measures the length of the ribbon with his fingers, holding it taught. He pops the other end in between his front teeth, and Yuuri tries desperately not to stare at his lips. Viktor snips the ribbon with a pair of big golden scissors, and a few end pieces join the stems on the ground.

He ties the ribbon around the bouquet with practised ease, no need to trim the ends; he guessed the measurements perfectly. He cuts the rubber band, places the bouquet into the wide rimmed vase, and wipes his hands together.

“Done. That Yuuri, is how you make a beautiful bouquet for a blushing bride.” He smiles cheekily, and Yuuri coughs as he blushes along with the future recipient of the flowers.

“Now it’s your turn.”

 

Two hours later as Yuuri is leaving, Viktor plucks a flower from the vase beside the till. It’s one of the Casablanca lilies, and Yuuri’s so surprised he almost forgets to thank him. He holds it against his nose the entire walk home.

* * *

 

Viktor is sat in a booth, stirring his drink as he keeps his expression coy.

“Viktor, if you don’t spill right now, I’m pouring that cocktail into your lap.” Chris and Viktor meet up at least twice a week for drinks; this time, Mila and Yuri have joined them. They always order vodka, but Viktor gave in to the temptation of Chris’ favourite sugary pink drinks a long time ago. He’s never been one for conforming to gender stereotypes.

“Ignore him. He just likes the attention. He’s been telling us about him all week.” Yuri gestures to himself and Mila with his thumb, and she swats him half heartedly.

“Don’t be mean Yurio. Viktor’s just excited after his little date.” She raises an eyebrow, and Viktor smiles demurely, stirring his cocktail once again. He’d rushed into the cafe to celebrate with Mila shortly after Yuuri agreed to help him. She had given him a free muffin and advised him on which cologne to use.

“Are you drinking that ridiculous thing, or are you just going to play with it?” Yuri glares at the glass. “Viktor will tell us all about the little piggy when we stop asking. I’m amazed he’s managed to hold it in this long. And stop calling me Yurio.”

Chris plays along, asking Mila how her day of work was, and Viktor lasts all of ten seconds before he bursts.

“It was amazing! Spectacular even. He arrived early and I had to rush to finish changing - I didn’t even have time to put that cologne on, Mila - and I realised afterwards my shirt was unbuttoned, but it didn’t matter because I wooed him with my flowers. I showed him how to make up bouquets and we talked about weddings-”

“Weddings? You’re a lunatic, you stupid, old-”

“And then he tried making some and I think by the end he was really getting the hang of things, he made a lovely rose bouquet for the shop window - although I did have to fix the ribbon a little-”

“Did you do him bent over one of the tables?” Chris raises an eyebrow at him, and before Viktor can respond Mila slaps his arm.

“Chris don’t be vile-”

“I don’t think that would be the best idea, what with the pots everywhere, and his penchant for knocking them over.”

“On the counter then.”

“Chris!”

“He’s ever so shy, I’m really not sure seducing him like that is the best idea.”

“Let me have a crack at him. I could even get a prude like Mila into bed - and neither of us are straight.”

Mila lunges for him, and Viktor laughs as Chris squawks. He’s unsettled by how tight his chest got when Chris spoke about Yuuri like that; because Yuuri is his, he has dibs, and he isn’t just some conquest. He’s too gentle, too delicate for that. He focuses his attention on Yuri, who is furiously red as Mila and Chris become more and more explicit.

“Have you met anyone recently Yurio?” Yuri’s glare could wither an oak tree, and Viktor is glad of the table between them.

“No. And all of you stop calling me that.”

“He’s really nice you know. I think you’d like him if you met him.” Yuri sticks his tongue out.

“He’s an ugly pig. I hate pigs. Especially clumsy pigs who knock things over.”

“He’s not a pig; if anything he's a piglet. He told me a little about his life today while we worked; he’s from Japan, and his family own a hot spring! You-tropica, or something.”

“Yu…Yu-topia?” Viktor cocks his head on one side.

“Yes! That’s it. Yurio, have you been? Are you a secret hot spring aficionado?” Yuri shakes his head and scoffs.

“Of course not. You-tropica just sounded stupid, that’s all. It was a guess.” Viktor smiles bemusedly. Perhaps there a lots of inns in Japan with that name; like how there are two pubs near them named The Lion’s Head.

“Okay.”

Yuri jumps up. “I’m getting more drinks. Don’t follow me.”

* * *

 

The next day Viktor is waving goodbye to the frazzled bridesmaid when Yuuri rushes through the door. His cheeks are pink, and he’s puffing air out in quick little breaths. He looks like he ran the whole way here.

“Viktor, guess what?” he stumbles past the bridesmaid, bowing a quick apology as she leaves.

“I couldn’t possibly, you’ll have to tell me.”

“My flowers sprouted! They’re growing, I didn’t kill them.” This is a Yuuri Viktor has not seen before. He’s hyped up on his success, his eyes sparkling behind his glasses, a little grin in place.

“That’s fantastic Yuuri. I told you they were fine. Plants just take a little time to get ready.”

Yuuri does his little serious nod, and Viktor’s heart screams against his ribcage. Sometimes he can hardly stand how sweet he is.

“I know, I know. I was just worried about them, you know?” Viktor does know, remembers the time he grew his first flowers. He can’t remember exactly what they were, but he does remember his excitement, staring at his little pot for hours, telling anyone who would listen that one day, he would have a room full of pretty flowers. Dreaming in the way only a six year old can. He’d always been pleased that, in that respect, he hadn’t let the little boy down.

“Viktor, I was- well I was thinking.”

“A dangerous pass time.” Yuuri gives him a look, and Viktor sheepishly waves for him to continue. “Sorry, go on.”

“I was thinking, I might buy some more seeds. Something else easy of course, my forget-me-nots haven’t actually bloomed yet, but I just thought they’d look pretty with a white flower next to them on my windowsill.”

“That’s a lovely idea Yuuri. You want to keep it small again?” Yuuri nods, and Viktor pulls open one of the drawers below the till. He’d moved the seeds a week ago. Just in case.

“How about these?” Yuuri takes the paper packet gingerly.

“Daisies?”

“Yes. They’re perfect for beginners, and a spring flower so they’ll grow well.”

“Are they the same as the one you gave me last week?” Viktor blinks.

“Yes, they are.” Yuuri smiles a heartbreaking smile, and Viktor prays his knees don’t buckle.

“Then I’ll take them.”

Viktor rings up the seeds, and they make small talk. Yuuri asks him what daisies mean, and Viktor explains how the different variants have lots of connotations; mainly loyalty, love, innocence, and purity. He puts them in one of the little bags Yuuri organised the day before, and takes his time handing them over, touching his finger against the other man’s, sliding the bag handle across them.

“Do you have a pot for them?” Yuuri shakes his head.

“Ah…no. I was going to buy one on my way back to my flat.” Viktor holds up a finger in the universal gesture for wait-just-one-moment, darts into the backroom, and picks out one of the nicer empty pots. As he turns back to the shop floor, his eyes catch on the cupboard, and he stops. Opening the little doors at the bottom his fingers trace dusty spines, looking for one book in particular. He finally finds it tucked behind several newer volumes on European roses, and hurries back.

“Here, use this one. The shops nearby just have cheap plastic. They make the plants sad.” Yuuri laughs and blushes, forgetting to protest as his takes the pot. Viktor takes this as a victory, a sign he’s becoming more relaxed around him. Then he pauses, peering into the little pot.

“What’s this? A book?”

“Yes. It was the first book I read on the language of flowers, when I was about thirteen.”

“Oh Viktor, how kind. I’ll be sure to read it quickly and return it to you.” Viktor has to stop himself from telling Yuuri that it’s alright, he can keep it; in fact he can have his entire shop if he wants.

“Alright. Oh and Yuuri?” He hands him his flower for the day.

“See if you can work out what kind of rose that is, and the meaning behind it.”

Yuuri nods again, and Viktor has a feeling he’ll be taking this homework seriously. As Yuuri leaves, Viktor finds that he’s not worried. After all, he lent him a book; now he has to come back.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yesss Chris.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who commented and left Kudos on the first chapter! I really didn't think anyone would read this until I had at least a couple of chapters down so thanks a bunch, it was unexpected. 
> 
> I edit my writing quite carefully, but I don't have a beta reader so if anyone notices any silly mistakes let me know. I realised the spacing on the previous chapter was a bit iffy for mobile users so I've fixed that. 
> 
> Also next chapter introduces a new character (possibly two...I haven't decided). Can you guys guess who? I'm super excited.


	3. Chapter 3

Each day Yuuri stops by Stammi Vicino to pick up more books. Each day Viktor changes the pot by the till, and hands him another flower.

Yuuri is a ferocious reader, and he devours the world of flowers through words. Even when Viktor hands him the biggest book he can find - over a thousand pages - Yuuri returns it late the next day, his hair dishevelled and blue rings under his eyes.

“It’s very interesting, how many stories there are. I mean, it doesn’t seem to matter where you are in the world, flowers are always symbolic in folklore.” Viktor nods as he pours fresh soil into a pot. He doesn’t know how to tell Yuuri he hasn’t even read that monster of a book yet. He reads so quickly Viktor can’t keep up.

“Which is your favourite story then? Out of all…what is it, fifty of them?”

“More like a hundred.” Yuuri lapses into silence, tapping his index finger against his top lip. Viktor stares. “Honestly? I still think the forget-me-not story is my favourite.”

He smiles so Viktor can just see his teeth, mischief in his eyes. “The poison plots are interesting too though. The ancient Greeks were pretty into that.” Viktor throws his head back as he laughs.

“Those ancient Greeks. Always so melodramatic.”

“Good performers though. When I was little I lived near an old fashioned theatre, run by locals. They mostly performed old Japanese stuff, but sometimes they branched out into other things. Every year they did a big performance of classic legends from ancient Greece. Mari loved those the most.”

This is how Viktor learns Yuuri; anecdotes of his life slipping in and out of conversations about books and flowers. He knows that Mari is his sister, although he doesn’t know their parents names. Mari works for their family run business, an inn named after their son. Mari and Yuuri aren’t very close in age; she finished high school just as he started. His favourite dish is called ‘katsu’, and every time Yuuri mentions it he gets an odd look in his eyes. The rest of what he’s told him is difficult to tie together; Viktor thinks he has a friend called Yuuko who Yuuri had a little crush on growing up, and there’s a man named Takeshi who is either a friend or a bully, depending on the story. Once Yuuri mentions how Mari is a sucker for treating his dog from the table, then never talks of a pet again, changing the topic to Makkachin. It’s a confusing web of cut strings, but Viktor doesn’t want to pressure him. Something in the back of his mind tells him not to go down that path, a twist in his gut saying that shouts leave it every time he starts to ask.

Yuuri has been coming to Stammi Vicino regularly for a month when Viktor breaks this unspoken rule. It’s another rainy Sunday. The weather is more temperate now, but today the sheets of rain smack into the shop windows, blown by the wind. Yuuri has been here for hours. He’s starting helping on Sundays, without discussion or invitation. Viktor has started closing on Mondays instead. There are so few customers that they spend the day talking and preparing for the week; he’s offered to pay Yuuri for the time, but the man refuses. After the accident during his first trip to the shop Viktor is nervous to let Yuuri repot flowers, but since then he’s been careful, handling each plant as gently as Viktor does. He gives each pot a name related to folklore, and Viktor starts writing them on the little labels. Every day they meet Viktor treasures, but it’s their quiet Sundays he looks forward to the most.

They’re talking about hot drinks when their fragile relationship shatters.

“Do you like coffee Yuuri?”

“It’s okay I guess. I really prefer hot chocolate. There’s a cafe by my flat that serves it, but it’s not very good so I usually just make it myself.”

“Well I’m dying for a cappuccino after we close. The cafe two doors down, some of my friends work there. They’ll give us a discount - and,” he nods sagely “Mila’s hot chocolates are the best. Honestly, she uses two chocolate syrups and covers it with cream.”

“Mini marshmallows?”

“As many mini marshmallows as you handle.” Yuuri smiles as he finishes filling out a card for the rose bush known now as ‘Aphrodite’ or ‘Gladys’, depending on which of them you asked.

“You’ve mentioned Mila before, but I don’t know much about her. Is she a close friend?”

“Yes. I haven’t told you many details about my friends, have I?”

“Nope. You’ve told me way too much about Makkachin though.” Viktor pushes his shoulder gently.

“Rude. Stories about my dog are fascinating and you know it. I should give you some context before you meet them though.” Yuuri busies himself with the next card and Viktor’s heart warms. It’s a sign Yuuri is interested in his life, and he finds it unbearably sweet. “Mila works in the cafe full time; she was promoted to supervisor last November. The previous supervisor quit; she thought it was great until she realised she was stuck in charge of the holiday rush. Now she’s sort of floating; she was studying at a school for dance and music, but she had to take a year off to save up for tuition. It’s nice to be able to see her more often though.”

“What kind of dance does she study?”

“She’s a bit of an all rounder, but mainly ballet. She knows jazz, and tap too. She’s amazing.”

“I used to take ballet.”

Viktor nearly falls over at this revelation. Yuuri never mentions any hobbies or passions, aside from reading.

“Really?”

“For about seven years. I stopped to focus on other stuff when I was fourteen.”

Viktor waits to hear about the other stuff, but Yuuri has gone back to writing the cards, his pen tracing neat letters.

“Well, I’m sure you two will have something to talk about then. Mila works with another friend of mine, Yurio. He’s actually called Yuri but when you started coming to the shop it got confusing so we added an ‘o’.”

“Why would it be confusing when they’ve never met me?” Viktor blanches. For all his nervousness and social anxiety, Yuuri has a habit of asking the most difficult questions. If their roles were reversed he might collapse.

“In my head I mean. It was confusing in my head when I was talking to either of you. So I gave him a nickname and it caught on.”

Yuuri nods, satisfied, and Viktor thanks all the ancient Greek gods he can think of that his helper is gullible.

“Don’t worry, it’s confusing to know more than one person at a time. Happens to the best of us.”

Not as gullible as he thought.

“Anyway. Yurio is…more like a brother than a friend. Don’t tell him I said that though, he pretends he hates me. We grew up in the same neighbourhood, although I’m a few years older than him; I used to help his grandfather by babysitting after his parent’s passed away.” Yuuri opens his mother to apologise, but Viktor cuts him off before he can get the words out. “Don’t worry, Yurio was very small. Probably best not to mention it to him though. He’s juggling a lot right now; the old man wants him to go to university, but he didn’t do very well in high school. He works at the coffee shop to pay the bills while he takes night classes.”

“He sounds nice.” Viktor chuckles.

“He’s not nice, he’s horrid. But he’s family, so what can you do?”

Yuuri murmurs in agreement, and Viktor files it away to think about later. He craves information about Yuuri’s family back in Japan.

“We have a fairly wide circle of friends between us, but I’m only really close to Mila, Yurio, and Chris. Chris is from Switzerland, but he moved over here to train with a better coach. He skates competitively, and he’s good; wins international medals and stuff. You wouldn’t think he’s a serious athlete given how often he goes out drinking with us, but he’s going to compete in the next Olympic - Yuuri are you writing in Japanese?”

Yuuri is scratching hard lines into the card, his labelling changing from English to an alphabet Viktor has seen on the labels of a brand Yuri likes.

“O-oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realise -” He crumples the card into his fist, shoving it into the bin of compost material near the back door.

“It’s alright Yuuri, are you okay?”

“I’m fine Viktor. You were telling me about your friend?” Viktor pauses for a moment. It’s like he’s surrounded by pitfalls, unsure which step to take; if there is a way out of this situation at all.

“Chris. Um, so Chris is going to the winter Olympics next year. He’s trying to get us all tickets but obviously his family want to go as well.” Yuuri is hunched back over the card, writing the label in English this time. Viktor is at a ridge. On one side is their current situation, Viktor knowing next to nothing about Yuuri’s personal life. The other side is a mystery, and Viktor can’t resist jumping over.

“Yuuri, it seems like you know Chris? I know you haven’t lived here long, but are you maybe a fan or something? I could get his autograph if you want me to.”

Yuuri slams the card - and his hand - onto the workbench, and although it’s not very forceful Viktor jumps. It’s so unlike him.

“I have no idea who that is. I’m not at all interested in his autograph.”

Annoyance prickles at Viktor. Why is he being so stiff? It was a reasonable question. He bites his tongue and turns away, distracting himself from the silence by filling out the last card. Yuuri sits at the bench while Viktor hangs up their aprons and cashes the till. He counts the float, checks the bags, and grabs the key from it’s hook. Yuuri is still in the backroom. Viktor pokes his head round the door.

“Shall we go get that drink then? They’ll be open for another hour or so.”

Yuuri slides off his stool, and grabs his coat and hat from the hooks.

“I think I’m just going to go home now. I’m not really in the mood.” He yanks open the shop door, turns right, and all of a sudden Viktor is alone.

 

* * *

 

It’s three o clock when Mila asks Yuri to bring the tables and chairs in from outside, tapping the counter with her nails and smiling at the gale outside. The horrible witch knows the rain is due to stop at four, Yuri is sure of it. He hisses curse words as he drags one of the metal tables across the pavement, rain pelting him and wind biting his cheeks. He doesn’t mind the cold, but Yuri hates the rain.

All of a sudden a dark figure bursts out of Stammi Vicino across the road. Yuri recognises the dark coat and hat pulled low over his face; it’s Viktor’s little pet piglet; the ‘impostor’ as Yuri likes to call him. He walks stiffly against the rain, rubbing his face with his hands. Every day he’s working Yuri watches the impostor arrive at Stammi Vicino, but he’s usually finished his shift by the time he leaves. He pauses in the rain as pig-face-impostor hurries down the street and disappears around the corner. He feels perturbed, although he’s not sure why.

It’s not till he’s sat in his mathematics class three hours later that Yuri realises the pig walked in the wrong direction down the road, towards Viktor’s flat.

* * *

“Be honest with me; am I the stupidest person in the world?”

Yes, mutters Yuri, as Mila answers no. She glares at Yuri for a moment, then pats Viktor’s shoulder.

“Of course not Viktor. It sounds like he just got a bit sensitive about something. You didn’t say anything bad, so I’m sure he’ll realise being so angry was unreasonable.”

Viktor swirls his drink, and chews his tongue as Mila turns her glare to him.

“You didn’t say something bad, did you Viktor?”

“Well…I was thinking about it all night, and we were talking about Chris, and there is a small chance that the way I was talking about Chris could have been misread.” Mila rolls her eyes as he rushes on. “I was just talking about his figure skating, and medals and stuff! I thought it was interesting, I didn’t mean to sound like I was fawning over him.”

Yuri snorts. “Stupid. You obviously sounded like you were in love with him or something. And of course the little piglet wouldn’t like to be compared to a world class athlete.” Mila shoves a tray into his hands as Viktor opens his mouth to argue.

“Yurio. Cafe run, now. Make sure you pick up the cigarette ends outside as well.”

“Why should I? They’re mostly yours, you old hag.” Yuri screeches as she pushes him towards the door. A man sat near the counter glares over his laptop at them and Mila smiles.

“Ever so sorry sir, he’s here with a program for juvenile delinquents. It’s part of his rehabilitation into society, a community service type thing.” The man glances nervously outside at Yuri, who is grinding a cigarette end under his heel. Viktor snorts as Mila moves back behind the counter, wiping the wands on the machine.

“You’re as bad as each other.” He sighs, thumping his forehead against the bar. “Mila I don’t know what to do. What if he never comes back? I don’t think I could take that. I was thinking of offering him a paid position in the shop. He could work in the backroom while I worked the till on busy days. He’ll never want to now, and it’s not like I can go to his flat, I don’t know where he lives!” Mila cuts him off before his tirade can continue.

“Viktor, it’ll be fine. Yuuri sounds like he’s lonely. He hasn’t told you his job, he stops by at eleven in the morning most days. You said he only moved here recently?”

“Early February I think.”

“Well then. Maybe he doesn’t even have a job yet. He might be keen to make a bit of money.”

“But Mila, that’s pointless if he never comes back to recieve the offer.”

She sighs, tossing her red hair out of her face. Since becoming supervisor, Mila has stopped wearing her hair tied back except for when the manager comes in.

“He will Viktor. Like I said, he sounds lonely. And no matter how much you bigged up Chris, it can’t have upset him so much he never wants to see you again.”

Viktor nods glumly, and Mila sighs at him again.

“You know I met this girl the other day, at the supermarket of all places. Sara? She’s studying music here next autumn.”

They talk about Mila’s love life until she closes up, and as they bid Yuri goodbye, Viktor welcomes the prospect of drinks.

* * *

It’s not stalking, Yuri tells himself. He’s just walking a different way to his classes.

It was five when they closed the coffee shop, and Viktor and Mila decided Monday was an entirely appropriate night for a drink. They said their goodbyes and started walking towards the nearest bar, shouting about Mila’s latest girl. Yuri had started walking in the opposite direction to go to school when he bumped into a familiar blue coat. The pig had been standing around the corner from his work. He’d apologised profusely, shoving his glasses up his nose and clutching at Yuri’s hand to help him up. Yuri had swatted him away and told him to watch where he was going. Yuuri had apologised again, turned on his heel, and rushed away down the street. In the wrong direction, again.

Presently, Yuri thanks the stars they’d never actually met before as he skulks twenty yards behind him. He’d half expected Yuuri to recognise him, but of course the pig didn’t.

For an instant when he’d been helping him up, Yuri thought he had recognised the impostors face. It was silly of course; lots of people look similar - sometimes even have doppelgangers - and he doesn’t know very many Japanese people. He’s not sure how common the name Yuuri is in Japan. Regardless, whatever he’s doing right now, it definitely, probably doesn’t count as stalking. Yuuri speeds along the pavement, pausing as he almost trips over his lace.

It isn’t long before they pass Viktor’s flat, and Yuri kicks himself for even thinking it was a possibility. Why would the pig be headed there if Viktor was with Mila? The turn off for the community centre he attends classes at is coming up, and it’s the perfect opportunity to leave before Yuuri realises he has a ghost. It’s also the perfect opportunity to learn more about the man Vitya is so enamoured with, and the corner has passed before Yuri can choose. Decision to be late made they continue, both men keeping their hands tucked in their pockets, heads down for decidedly different reasons. The rain is all but gone now, and Yuri only vaguely knows the street they’re on.

They walk for almost twenty minutes more, and right when Yuri has decided to call it a day - the pig is annoying enough to just be walking aimlessly - Yuuri ducks into a doorway. Yuri waits a beat, then examines the sign outside.

Prince Skating!

Yuri’s stomach coils with dread. They’re at the old ice rink he’s only heard of in passing; when he gets time to practice it’s at the newer, closer building. He walks inside expecting to pay a fee, instead slinking past the unattended front desk. He climbs the stairs to the benches cautiously; it’s stupid, but there’s still a chance Yuuri might pop out at him. His side of the stands is virtually empty, a couple of kids and a dark haired man sitting further along. Opposite are some adults talking amongst themselves, waving occasionally to the children gripping the rails and shouting for their immediate attention. Nobody notices him, even when he grips the bench and leans towards Yuuri, who is skating out from an entrance.

Yuri doesn’t look away once. Not while Yuuri skates some mindless figure eights, popping his headphones in. Not when he spins, and follows with some basic footwork. Not when he sets himself up for a triple toe loop, a small round of applause breaking out as he follows through and lands beautifully. Yuri’s eyes strain as he watches the familiar patterns and techniques he followed for years. Yuuri Katsuki is not the skater he once was, that’s for sure. His practice lacks emotion, his eyes distracted and his skating methodical; he hasn’t even tried a quad yet. The truth however is unquestionable: Katsuki has exchanged the adoring crowds of competitions for a few seven year olds clapping from the rails. For the first time in years Yuri feels true, undiluted rage course from his head to his fingertips. The scene of himself, hopping the barrier and shaking Katsuki like a rag doll obscures his vision and for a moment he considers it; a careful hand on his shoulder snaps him back to reality.

“His skating is quite beautiful, no?” The dark haired man is speaking to him, and Yuri wonders when he stood up. He let’s himself be pushed back into his seat, taken aback as the man sits next to him.

“Not really.” Yuri gives the man a cool stare, then looks back at the ice. Katsuki is talking to the children, pulling one of them along at a snails pace. It’s sickening.

“Maybe. It’s not as good as when he used to compete, right?” Yuri looks at the man in shock, annoyed to find that his attention is now on the ice. He scowls.

“I don’t care. I only ever watched a couple of his routines anyway. His jumps aren’t to my taste.” Yuri almost winces. It’s a stupid thing to say; Yuuri Katsuki’s jumps are the best. Were. Embarrassment chokes him as the man stifles a laugh, turning it into a cough.

“Perhaps to some. I’ve known Yuuri for a while, and believe me, the work he put into those jumps would astonish you.” It wouldn’t, but Yuri isn’t about to tell him that.

“If you know him so well, then why did he quit?” That’ll stump him. After the grand prix gold medallist quit so suddenly, theories flew around the internet for over a year. This strange man will probably just regurgitate one of the more common ones.

“Various reasons. He was under a lot of stress, and in the end the camel’s back broke. He’d been losing his love for competing for a while, then walked into his coach’s office one day and said his goodbyes. His sponsors were furious.” Yuuri is hugging one of the children goodbye, and Yuri glances at his phone. They’ve been here for over an hour. It feels like minutes. The sun seems to have come out from the clouds, and now golden evening light is shining through the big windows behind them, casting long shadows. He’s definitely missed his first class, and by the time he gets back into town the second will be almost over. It almost makes him feel guilty.

“He’s leaving in a minute, I’d better go say hi.” The man beside him stands, tapping a finger against his side. Yuri stands too, pulling his hood up and stuffing his hands back in his pockets. He’s already walking away when the man speaks again.

“See you tomorrow.”

Yuri scowls and walks faster. If he hurries he’ll make it back to town in time to hand in his assignments and collect his own skates from home. He doesn’t look back until he’s down the stairs, glancing through the windowed door that leads to the ice. Katsuki is leaning against the barrier as he talks to the man, smiling and pushing his glasses up his nose. It’s hateful.

By the time the man mentions him, Yuri is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when I didn't update this fanfic for over a hundred days because I was busy with school? 
> 
> I'm glad to be back to writing this, it's summer now and I'm done with school for the next couple months so I can focus more time on this. Thanks for all the comments and kudos so far, you guys are awesome giving them even though there hasn't been an update in a while!


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